


hidden in plain sight

by aretes



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Light Pining, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29613672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aretes/pseuds/aretes
Summary: He’s confident under the lights, face frozen in a stoic mask built from years of experience, but it all threatens to shatter the moment Donghyuck smiles at him.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Liu Yang Yang
Comments: 11
Kudos: 68





	hidden in plain sight

Liu Yangyang has always thought of himself as a bit of a lone wolf. 

He had never shot to fame like some other models, landing a spot in their cliques, nor had he established his own inner circle, too shy and private to do so. Yangyang had just practiced his job to perfection, slowly but steadily climbing up the casting lists from show to show.

The thought crosses his mind again as he’s getting his hair done for a GQ shoot. They’re featuring the “next generation” of male models for the upcoming issue, so Yangyang finds himself among familiar faces that are more than acquaintances but not quite friends. He knows Kim Jungwoo and Na Jaemin well enough to joke around with them on set, but he’s nowhere near as close to them as Lucas and Hendery Wong are to each other.

Maybe it’s his background, he muses, watching the Wongs converse in rapid fire Cantonese. Having grown up in Taiwan then starting his career in Germany, Yangyang was no longer familiar with the slang the Mandarin-speaking models used nor the cultural references the German models made, so he keeps mostly to himself.

He’s not bothered by it anymore. Amidst his hectic schedule, Yangyang enjoys the moments of calm silence where he recedes into his mind. But when the blanket of loneliness becomes more suffocating than comforting, he wonders what it’d be like to travel the world with his best friend instead of facetiming in empty hotel rooms.

Before Yangyang can work himself into an introspective spiral though, New York Fashion Week sweeps in like a storm a few days later, blowing away all thoughts that aren’t about staying on time and on his feet. 

Yangyang spends the next week rushing from runway to runway, showing off beautiful blazers and trousers and coats. But before he can get used to the way a silk blouse caresses his skin, he’s already slipping into another set of clothes, walking towards another set of blinding lights. 

Each night, Yangyang blacks out the moment his head hits the pillow, but this is what he loves most about his job. 

It’s thrilling to run on adrenaline and see the world in technicolor.

  
  
  


“Are you excited for Paris?”

The red and white roofs of Milan shrink into specks as the plane rises higher into the sky and Yangyang turns away from the window with a grin. “Sure. I’m more excited to be with you though.”

Kun scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You only appreciate me when I’m gone.”

“No, I only appreciate you when I know I’ll see Ten.”

Kun raises a threatening fist and Yangyang laughs brightly. Despite his teasing, he’s genuinely missed his former manager. Kun had been there for Yangyang when he was 18 and needed it the most, helping him navigate the tumultuous fashion industry and distracting him with incessant nagging when his thoughts began to spiral. Kun had since settled down in Seoul where his partner was based and Yangyang had teased him endlessly for giving up his career for a man.

Said man smothers Yangyang in kisses when they land in Paris.

“Ten, I’m not a baby anymore,” he grumbles, but he’s secretly pleased with the affection.

“You’ll always be my baby,” Ten says breezily, before leaning over to press a chaste kiss onto Kun’s cheek with a soft smile. “Who are you modeling for this time? I hope it’s Balmain so I can steal your clothes after.”

“You know I don’t get to keep them, right?” Yangyang says, amused. “I am walking for Balmain though, so you’ll get to watch the show.”

Ten squeals happily and Yangyang can’t help but smile. It’s his first time working with the French house and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited. Even when he’d known nothing about fashion, he’d been in awe of Balmain’s bold silhouettes and intricate details. He loved how the simplicity was somehow larger-than-life, had been drawn to it in a way he couldn’t articulate. 

  
  
  


Paris flies by in a blur of fittings, interviews, and red carpet events. The reporters bombard him with questions every chance they get, asking about his plans for the upcoming year, his thoughts on modeling, his time in Germany, if he’s seeing anyone, his favorite Parisian eateries. Yangyang answers them politely but carefully, deflecting all the personal ones with well-placed humor. 

Yangyang’s least favorite part about his job are the questions. He prefers to hide underneath the beautiful armor and blinding lights of the runway.

“Last one,” Kun says when Yangyang tugs at his suit for Balmain’s pre-show event. He still knows exactly what Yangyang is thinking and Yangyang returns his gentle smile before walking into the flashing cameras.

He poses a few times to show off his carefully tailored suit before he’s ushered over to the media corner. Yangyang’s eyes sweep across the throng of journalists and _oh._ An unfamiliar face makes his breath catch in his throat.

The new journalist is young, looks about Yangyang’s age, and his skin glows bronze under the lights. He’s leaning over the metal gate, extending a bright orange microphone towards Yangyang with an equally bright smile, and Yangyang has the irrational urge to dab the sweat beading the journalist’s nose with the sleeve of his thousand dollar jacket.

He wrenches his eyes away when another reporter calls his name though.

“Yangyang, it’s your first time walking for Balmain. How does it feel?”

Yangyang smiles. “It’s kind of a dream come true,” he says. “I’ve always loved Balmain and it’s an honor to be able to walk for them and attend this event.”

“What’s been your favorite part of working with them so far?”

“Do I have to pick one?” he laughs. “The whole experience has been wonderful. I’ve loved seeing the show come to life from behind the scenes.”

“Yangyang, I have a question over here.” 

Yangyang's stomach flips nervously at the voice but he turns to face the new reporter with a practiced smile. The journalist’s eyes are sparkling with excitement and Yangyang’s gaze roams across his delicate features before it falls on the press badge hanging around his neck. _Donghyuck Lee_. 

“You modeled for streetwear in the beginning of your career,” Donghyuck says, brown eyes taking on a determined glint. “What are your thoughts on Balmain’s interest in that area?”

Yangyang lets out a small laugh, a little flustered by the unusual question and Donghyuck’s intense gaze. “Well, um, I’m no Balmain spokesperson,” he says, “but I personally enjoy streetwear and uh, I’d love to see what Mr. Rousteing comes up with. I think that one of Balmain’s greatest strengths is its versatility in design so yeah, I’m excited.”

Yangyang wants to pinch himself. He’s usually never this flustered, hasn’t tripped over his words in years. But Donghyuck seems satisfied, smiling and waving his bright orange mic when the guard signals for Yangyang to move on. 

He walks for Balmain later that night. Under the blinding lights, the stoic mask he’s perfected over the years falls into place and Yangyang feels invincible. 

He wonders if Donghyuck is watching.

  
  
  


Fashion Month ends with that last Balmain show in Paris, but Yangyang starts seeing Lee Donghyuck everywhere. He doesn’t know if Donghyuck is actually new or if he’s always been there, flying under the radar, but Yangyang can’t _not_ see him now. Donghyuck is at every red carpet, stubbornly pushing his way to the front of the crowd and extending his microphone towards the models. At a Dior event in Florence, Dong Sicheng looks so bewildered at the orange puff being shoved in his face that Yangyang has to suppress a delighted snicker before walking onto the carpet himself.

Somehow, Donghyuck is there when Yangyang is shooting for a Tommy Hilfiger campaign in Los Angeles. It’s April now, the cold starting to melt into spring, and Venice Beach glows under the California sunlight. The house they’re shooting in is right on the sands and the sheer white curtains drift gently in the warm breeze blowing in through the open windows. Yangyang’s denim jacket is thrown open over his torso as he slouches on the white sofa. 

“Look more to the left, please,” the photographer says and Yangyang curses internally when he realizes that his gaze has drifted towards Donghyuck again, watching him peruse the snack table. About an hour into the shoot, the journalist had wandered into the house with an unspoken purpose and greeted the crew happily. Yangyang had been fighting to focus on the camera ever since.

After a few more clicks of the camera, the photographer looks satisfied, waving Yangyang off with a smile as the next model walks on set. 

Yangyang finds Donghyuck in the kitchen, studying the racks of clothing like he’s deep in thought. 

“Lee Donghyuck right?” Yangyang says, letting his lips part into a small smile as he walks into the room. “I didn’t know you worked for Tommy.”

Donghyuck looks up with a laugh. “I don’t. The photographer, Johnny, he’s my cousin. It’s his first time shooting for a big brand like Tommy so I came over for moral support.”

“That’s really nice of you,” Yangyang says. “He seems very talented.”

“He is.” Donghyuck states it proudly like a fact he knows by heart and his conviction sends fondness running through Yangyang.

Donghyuck chatters on as Yangyang changes into his next outfit and has his hair and makeup redone. It’s a welcome reprieve from Yangyang’s usual silence and he learns how Johnny had spontaneously quit his college in Chicago to study under Lee Donghae in Seoul, surviving off of instant ramen and the tupperware containers of homemade kimchi that Donghyuck would bring him on rare visits to Seoul.

“I’m from Jeju,” Donghyuck explains. “Which is pretty far from Seoul but I went for college visits and stuff in high school.”

“Did you end up going to school in Seoul?” Yangyang asks.

“No, actually,” Donghyuck says with a laugh. “I went to college right here in Los Angeles.”

He had always wanted to be a journalist, he says, and had originally wanted to write about international politics. But when he accidentally wandered into a fashion show downtown during his sophomore year, he’d fallen in love with the outfits, the accessories, the art of it all.

“Fashion transcends boundaries,” Donghyuck says. “You don’t have to speak a certain language or know the designer’s entire life story to understand what message is being conveyed. You don’t have to look or present yourself in a certain way to wear a piece of clothing. It’s all about expressing yourself and fashion gives you endless avenues to explore that.”

Donghyuck is opinionated and unapologetic and it leaves Yangyang a little envious and a lot in awe.

  
  
  


He’s not surprised when Donghyuck sidles up to him at an afterparty in London. Yangyang is sipping a glass of champagne, watching Hendery Wong’s antics on the dance floor with barely concealed amusement.

“Not going to join him?” Donghyuck says over the pounding music.

Yangyang turns to face Donghyuck with a laugh. “These aren’t really my thing. How did you get in here?”

Donghyuck gestures towards the DJ booth. “Mark Lee. Childhood friend.”

Yangyang squints through the strobing lights of the dance floor and vaguely makes out the shape of a man wearing a baseball cap. “Mark Lee? You mean the rapper?”

Donghyuck hums in affirmation as he flags down a bartender.

“I didn’t know he DJ’ed,” Yangyang says. “Or that you knew him.”

“He only started DJing recently but he’s Mark so of course he’s good at it already,” Donghyuck says with a roll of the eyes. “And yeah, we went to the same middle and high school. Did you know that he hated me so much at first that he almost moved back to Canada?” 

Yangyang barks out a laugh at the way Donghyuck puffs out his chest in pride. “What did you even do to him?”

Donghyuck grins and launches into a colorful retelling of his middle school years, sharing all the shit he’d get himself and Mark into with glee. He gestures animatedly as he recounts the time Mark had fallen into a lake and sent a flurry of ducks flapping into the air. Donghyuck had laughed so hard at the indignant quacking that he’d collapsed onto the dock with tears in his eyes, forcing Mark to swim all the way to shore when Donghyuck couldn’t summon the energy to pull him back up onto the wooden platform. Donghyuck’s entire face is lit up with happiness at the memory, beaming in the dimness of the club, and Yangyang thinks he’s falling too, silently slipping into the water.

“Anyways,” Donghyuck says. “Tell me about _your_ embarrassing childhood stories.”

It’s a knee-jerk reaction to freeze up, cold air hitting his drenched body as he’s yanked out of the lake. “I don’t have any interesting stories,” Yangyang says automatically.

Donghyuck eyes him carefully and Yangyang feels like he’s being stripped down layer by layer.

“You can be honest with me, you know. No PR here.”

“You _are_ a journalist,” Yangyang tries to joke, but his voice comes out a little too hoarse.

“Yes but I’m also a human. And I want to know you.” The way Donghyuck says it is unflinching, honest, and Yangyang has to look away.

He doesn't know what to do or what to say. He’s never prepared for something like this. Donghyuck is so sincere that it would be an irrevocable insult for Yangyang to laugh it off with a joke. Kun isn’t around to save him from a nosy journalist either, because in this moment, Donghyuck isn’t one, just like Yangyang isn’t a model.

But this is more terrifying than posing naked for a magazine cover.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Donghyuck says. His eyes are like pools of honey and Yangyang could drown in them.

He smiles wryly. “The mortifying fear of being known?”

Donghyuck throws his head back when he laughs, and Yangyang wants to memorize the sound, the elegant line of his neck. 

“Well Mr. Public Figure, if it makes you that uncomfortable...” Donghyuck trails off and there’s something like a question in his eyes, hopeful.

But Yangyang just shrugs and offers him a small smile before downing the rest of his champagne. When he sets his glass down, he thinks Donghyuck looks a little disappointed, but maybe it’s just the alcohol.

  
  
  


Yangyang doesn’t see Donghyuck for weeks after that night in London.

He flies around the world, has a thousand photos taken of him, and all the while he hides within poses and beautiful clothes, behind camera lenses and poker faces. 

Weeks turn into months.

Yangyang finds himself missing Donghyuck’s presence, half-expecting him to pop up from behind a tripod or a rack of clothing.

In the Bahamas, Yangyang shoots for Tommy again and he musters up the courage to ask Johnny about Donghyuck. But Johnny just smiles and says he’s been busy recently, nothing to worry about.

On a particularly lonely night in Tokyo, Yangyang searches up Donghyuck’s name. He had found Donghyuck’s Instagram and Twitter a long time ago, checks them more often than he’s willing to admit, and he knows they haven’t been updated for months. But tonight when he opens Twitter, there’s a new article linked under Donghyuck’s profile and Yangyang clicks on it immediately.

It’s an interview with Osaki Shotaro. The black and white headshot that pops up is a stark contrast to what Yangyang remembers of the Japanese model. Two years ago in Milan, Shotaro was a constantly smiling newbie, adorably endearing with his shy nervousness. Here, Shotaro is gazing sultrily at the camera as Donghyuck’s words weave magic around him.

An ugly feeling rises in Yangyang as he reads but he tries to shake it off. It’s ridiculous, he tells himself, it’s not like you own Donghyuck. Hell, Yangyang doesn’t even know if they’re friends.

Brightness and charisma spill out of Donghyuck like golden rays from the sun, and Yangyang is so selfish for wanting the light all to himself.

  
  
  


Yangyang finally sees Donghyuck again at a Burberry event in August. 

Vegas is hot and stuffy in the late summer heat but Donghyuck is as enthusiastic as ever, coaxing broad grins and genuine chuckles out the models as they answer his questions. When it’s Yangyang’s turn, his eyes crinkle into a warm smile. “Long time no see.”

“Felt every second of it.” Yangyang is only half-joking but he keeps his tone playful for the cameras.

Donghyuck’s eyes flash but before Yangyang can decipher their meaning, Donghyuck is asking about his favorite pieces from the new collection.

“It’d have to be the Gabardine coat I think,” Yangyang says after a pause, a little thrown off by the whiplash Donghyuck always seems to bring. “A classic style with a modern twist from the print.”

Donghyuck nods but before Yangyang can open his mouth to say something, anything, another journalist takes his spot. “Yangyang, how are you feeling about the event tonight?”

Yangyang mindlessly rattles off an answer as he watches Donghyuck weave through the crowd towards another model.

“You disappeared so quickly.”

Yangyang finds Donghyuck first this time around, eyes landing on Donghyuck’s tousled brown hair the moment he sets foot in the club.

Donghyuck turns to face Yangyang with a quirked eyebrow. “I _do_ have a job you know.”

Yangyang smiles. “The piece you wrote about Shotaro was great.”

“I know,” Donghyuck says and Yangyang chuckles at his familiar confidence. “I’m glad you read it though.”

The way he’s looking at Yangyang is almost vulnerable in its sincerity. 

“It’s been a busy few months,” Donghyuck continues, running a hand through his hair with a small sigh. “I realized I didn’t like the work the magazine was making me do so I left and I’m freelance now.”

“Is that hard?” Yangyang asks softly, studying the tired lines of Donghyuck’s face. 

Donghyuck leans back against the bar with an exhale and the dim lighting dances across his face, gilds it in gold. “Yeah. A lot less certainty, but I’m happier.”

Yangyang nods thoughtfully. He remembers how it felt at the beginning of his career, walking into his agency’s small office in Düsseldorf each morning, desperately hoping that there would be an offer waiting for him today.

“But you get to choose which jobs you take now?”

“Yeah I get hired from event to event so I don’t have to go to any more boring Chanel shows. Sorry if you like them,” Donghyuck says, glancing at Yangyang in a way that says he isn’t sorry at all.

Yangyang laughs and waves him off. “I haven’t worked for Chanel so no hard feelings. Who _do_ you like?”

Donghyuck hums, sipping his drink as he thinks. “Personal favorites are Dior and Balenciaga, but I appreciate anyone who can surprise me. What about you?”

“Um well, I really like shoes,” Yangyang starts and Donghyuck groans dramatically, collapsing onto a nearby stool.

“Oh no, you’re one of _those_ people. I bet you have an entire closet just for your Nikes.”

“I mean, _you’re_ wearing limited edition Givenchys right now so,” he shrugs pointedly at Donghyuck’s shoes and Donghyuck throws his hands up as if to say _see what I mean?_

Yangyang laughs. “For clothes I guess I like Balmain.”

Donghyuck looks Yangyang up and down and Yangyang hopes the flush spreading across his face doesn’t show. “Oh yeah, I can see that. You walked for them in February too.”

Yangyang nods, pleased that he remembered. “Hopefully again in September.”

“That’s going to be exciting,” Donghyuck says, and his smile is a little wistful.

  
  
  


A few weeks later, Yangyang gets casted for the Balmain show in Paris. He asks his manager if he can get three front row tickets this time.

  
  
  


Backstage is a whirlwind of pounding music, rattling clothes racks, and makeup brushes swooping in for one last touch up. It’s the last show of the season, a triumphant finale to another hectic Fashion Month, and excitement quivers in the air.

Yangyang walks up the metal stairs to the runway, the familiar tingle of pre-show nerves spreading through his body.

The stylists adjust the way his jacket sits on his shoulders, blot the sweat off his face as he shuffles forward in the darkness.

Then the models in front of him start peeling off rapidly, one after the other, and the fluttering in his stomach rises to a frenzy as he starts to walk.

When the light hits, it’s sudden, blinding, and Yangyang feels _alive_.

Sparks fly across his vision and the music flows through his veins like liquid fire as Yangyang strides down the runway, chin tilted up in a mask of careful arrogance.

His wool jacket is adorned with silver thread that curls around itself again and again in a million of Balmain’s signature spirals and it’s dazzling under the bright lights. The cameras turn towards him to capture the beauty of the moment, but Yangyang’s pace is relentless, his mask unfaltering as he reaches the end of the runway.

But when he spots Donghyuck in the crowd, smiling brighter than a thousand suns, it all shatters.

  
  
  
  
  


**_A Year Later_ **

Donghyuck joins Yangyang on the red carpet of a Dior event in Seoul.

When the photos come out, Donghyuck is grinning brightly, impossibly radiant under the flashing cameras, and Yangyang is gazing down at him all too softly, adoration written all over his face.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! kudos and comments are always appreciated <3
> 
> outfit references: [tommy](http://daman.co.id/daman.co.id/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/lucky-blue-smith-for-tommy-hilfiger-denim-fall-2016-72.jpg), [burberry](https://us.burberry.com/horseferry-print-cotton-gabardine-car-coat-p80162221?istCompanyId=564e1513-f47e-4b67-be63-f610234165ed&istFeedId=8cf3583f-d329-465d-b0c6-94f120d80dba&istItemId=wmarwtxxq&istBid=tztx&gclid=CjwKCAiAg8OBBhA8EiwAlKw3klpvkV92DdI5RFPW-AwPLHpIbYgVu6S1vI-tkGqVTo2zwYssO1DbnhoCUicQAvD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds), [balmain](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/53/0d/b8/530db80823d23fdcca5107f1016e3227.jpg)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kyeomdae)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/chensdaes)  
> 


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